Selling (Somewhat) Magic Goods in Arknights

[DuckaBoo385]

P.S.: If you guys wanna write like some extra chapters or non-canon omakes for this story, you can go ahead. I don't know how to let others write on the Extra Tab like how Aeon_Rex does it though. Just keep it SFW.

Click to shrink...

Question, out of curiosity, is there a reason this is on the NSFW section? Is it under this section due to potential Gore or the like down the line?
(Presuming this won't really go down to lewds, tone-wise.)

Really like the story so far, and this is in no way me attempting to pressure you to write something out of your comfort zone.

 

[Paracsus]

Question, out of curiosity, is there a reason this is on the NSFW section? Is it under this section due to potential Gore or the like down the line?
(Presuming this won't really go down to lewds, tone-wise.)

Really like the story so far, and this is in no way me attempting to pressure you to write something out of your comfort zone.

Click to shrink...

That was a mistake on my part. I initially thought that I posted this on the SFW part of the site. But since this is where I most frequently read stuff, I posted it here by mistake. I thought about moving it, but it already has all these likes and comments that it would be a shame to move it and lose all that progress.

 

[DuckaBoo385]

That was a mistake on my part. I initially thought I posted this on the SFW part of the site, but this is where I most frequently read stuff. I thought about moving it, but it already has all these likes and comments that it would be a shame to move it and lose all that progress.

Click to shrink...

Fair enough. Thanks for replying.

 

[ThePoroKing]

The cart will mail a pipebomb to the mean ones, trust.

 

[Paracsus]

New Agreements, Old Problems

By the end of the week, Arno had three standing agreements in the drawer beneath the counter.

Rhodes Island's Lungmen branch remained unchanged. One daily pickup. Fixed quantities. Bentos, bread, drinks, with a small allotment of sugarettes and butter candies included in each crate. One courier, one vehicle, no substitutions.

LGD's request followed the same structure.

They asked for fewer loaves than Rhodes, citing patrol logistics and storage limits. In exchange, they requested a larger share of sugarettes and butter candies, distributed in sealed packets alongside the meals. Long shifts, extended watches, and overnight duty made compact items easier to manage.

Arno agreed after adjusting the counts. The limits stayed in place. The timing stayed the same. Their pickup window was set earlier in the morning to avoid overlap.

The Lungmen Young Entrepreneur's Association came last.

Their agreement matched the others in form, but not in content. No sugarettes since their building enforced a strict no-smoking policy, and the site manager had made it clear that anything resembling tobacco—even inert—was not allowed on the premises, much to the chagrin of some people working there. They requested additional bottles of juice to compensate for this. They would pick up their package between 11:00 am and 12:00 nn.

Arno accepted those terms without issue.

(Meanwhile, Lin Yuhsia's approval rating actually shot up by a whopping 40% after making the decision to seek out a contract with Arno. Not that he knows about anything like that. If it is perceived that she is looking out for the cart more proactively, then that is merely a coincidence.)

Each group received sealed goods only. No custom mixing at pickup. No changes without prior discussion. No visibility at the cart beyond what any other customer could see.

Three buyers. Three time slots. Three crates per day.

People noticed.

Questions started circulating. Who was buying in bulk. Why those groups. Whether the cart was still "open" in the usual sense. Arno did not address any of it. Sales at the counter continued as normal, and no items were withheld from walk-in customers.

That night, after the last customer had left and the cart exterior was packed away, Arno and Niko went inside. Aware, but not particularly caring of the whispers that revolved around them concerning the new bulk orders.

That would come back later to bite them.

---

The first problem surfaced a day after Arno accepted Lin's contract.

It happened late in the morning, right at the edge of the agreed pickup window. The lunch crowd had not yet arrived, leaving the street in an awkward lull where people passed by without stopping. Arno had already set the sealed crates aside beneath the counter—clearly labeled, counted twice, and placed where they could not be reached from the street. Niko was wiping down the counter when a delivery van rolled up and parked just far enough to be legal.

The man was different from the usual.

He approached alone, clipboard tucked under his arm, posture relaxed in a way that suggested familiarity rather than urgency. His jacket was plain, neither branded nor worn, and he stopped at a respectful distance from the counter instead of leaning in.

"Pickup for LGD," he said, voice even. "Morning allocation."

Arno did not reach for the crates.

He studied the man instead,taking in the details: no visible badge, no radio, no identifying patch. Not unusual on its own. Enough to warrant care.

"Name?" Arno asked.

The man hesitated, just briefly, then answered. "Rui. I'm covering today."

"Covering for who?" Arno asked.

"Regular courier couldn't make it. Vehicle issue."

That explanation came quickly, like it was practiced numerous times.

Arno reached under the counter and took out the notebook where he kept the contract details. He flipped to the LGD page, running a finger down the lines as though double-checking quantities, even though he already knew them by memory.

"There's no substitute listed," Arno said. "Who approved the change?"

The man smiled, mild and practiced. "The sarge did. He sent me in since the regular guy wouldn't be able to come in today."

Arno looked up. "Which precinct authorized it?"

"...East District?." The man said after a minute.

The answer raised an eyebrow. East District would approve a change from all the way here?

Arno closed the notebook and set it aside. Then he motioned for Niko to pass him his phone.

"Stand here. I need to make a call." he said.

The man's smile thinned. "There's really no need to bother them. I can wait, but—"

Arno was already dialing.

He did not use a public contact number. He used the one written into the agreement, the one that had been tested twice already.

When the line connected, Arno spoke calmly. "This is Arno. I have someone claiming to be your courier. Name Rui. Plain jacket. Gray van. Is that correct?"

There was a pause, then a sharp exhale on the other end.

"No," the voice said. "Our courier hasn't arrived yet. He's delayed. Why?"

Arno looked back at the man.

He was already running away.

By the time Arno ended the call and looked up again, the man was moving down the street, pace quick but controlled, not drawing attention. He did not look back.

Nothing had been touched. Nothing had been taken.

The second attempt came the following day.

This one was more careful.

The woman arrived precisely at the agreed time, carrying a laminated ID that looked convincing at a glance. She named Rhodes Island as her place of work, came at the correct pickup window, and recited the quantities without hesitation. She even apologized for the established courier who should have been there before Arno brought it up, as though trying to establish continuity.

Arno listened without interrupting.

"Who authorized the substitution?" he asked when she finished.

She gave a name immediately. It was a real one.

Niko, who was looking at the "courier" suspiciously, handed Arno his phone without any prompting.

"That won't be necessary," she said quickly. "They're in a meeting."

"Don't worry, they'll make time for this," Arno replied, already dialing.

This time, the response was immediate and sharp.

"No," the voice said. "Absolutely not. Keep her there."

Arno looked up from the phone.

The woman had already left.

She didn't run. She didn't argue. She simply merged into the crowd with the efficiency of someone who had practiced leaving without causing a scene. The clipboard she'd been holding slipped from her hand and clattered onto the pavement.

It held a script, complete with "what-if" questions in case the target asked.

After that, Arno changed the procedure.

He called each contracting party in turn and stated the rule without decoration.

"If the courier is not the one listed," he said, "you call me first. Name, description, vehicle. I will not release anything without verbal confirmation. These people are getting crafty."

There were no objections.

LGD adjusted immediately. Their couriers began arriving in uniform, vehicle numbers clearly marked, calling five minutes before arrival as instructed.

Rhodes Island followed, issuing sealed pickup cards that matched the crate labels exactly and adding a secondary confirmation number.

The Lungmen Young Entrepreneurs Association took longer. Their first call involved three voices talking over one another, all trying to clarify responsibility. Arno listened to them bicker, then suggested that they just give him the description of who will arrive, together with a written letter and a seal of approval. The three voices discussed it for a bit, then agreed.

The next courier arrived exactly as described.

After that, the attempts stopped.

Not because interest had faded, but because the opening had closed.

That evening, inside the cart, Niko sat with her knees pulled up on the bench, watching Arno update the notebook.

"They really thought you wouldn't check. That got really annoying." she frowned.

"They thought that I cared more about selling the product than I did proper verification." Arno replied. "Or that I'd be too meek to actually call my contractors."

She frowned. "Did it bother you?"

"Not really. I agree with you on how it was annoying." he said. "But at least this way, they unintentionally made the whole thing more secure.."

She nodded, satisfied.

---

The change in approach didn't come from the cart itself.

After the courier attempts failed, the people who had been circling Arno stopped acting directly. No more fake drivers. No more borrowed uniforms. No one tried to intercept a delivery again. Instead, the pressure shifted outward.

Names began circulating through Lungmen's quieter channels—people who asked too many questions, who lingered without buying, who showed interest in logistics rather than food. Those names reached two different desks.

Lin's people were the first to deal with this.

They didn't approach the cart or Arno. They didn't issue warnings on the street. Instead, they used their authority to check permits, trace affiliations, and identify which groups were testing boundaries rather than negotiating. A few businesses were quietly reminded that the area around the cart was not neutral ground. Some conversations ended before they could start.

Separately, the Rat King's people received the same information.

They worked different routes and answered to different rules, but the overlap was intentional. Certain individuals found doors closed to them that had been open the day before. Others were advised—clearly, but without threats. Yet.—that interfering with ongoing arrangements would be a mistake. No enforcement was visible, but word spread quickly enough.

The coordination stayed off the street.

Lin's side handled the public-facing balance. The Rat King's side handled what didn't need to be seen. Resources were shared where it mattered: information, timing, and awareness of who was pushing too hard.

None of it reached Arno directly.

From his perspective, things simply became quieter. Fewer people hovered near the cart after pickups. Fewer "curious" questions came from strangers. Couriers arrived when scheduled, called ahead as instructed, and left with the correct crates.

Niko noticed it first.

"They're not doing that thing anymore," she said, peering down the street.

"What thing?" Arno asked.

"Standing there and pretending not to stare."

"Yes," he said. "I noticed. Certainly feels a lot more free now, huh?"

She nodded, relieved and went back to stacking trays.

The system continued to function. Contracts were honored. Deliveries went out. No one pushed for changes, and no one tried to take shortcuts.

Whatever pressure still existed had moved somewhere else, handled by people who knew how to contain it without making it visible.

---

A Change of Tactics

The people who had been circling the cart adjusted their approach once it became clear that pressure and impersonation were no longer viable. No one tried to strongarm Arno again. No one argued about contracts or hovered during pickups.

The people who originally tried to sink their claws into Arno and Niko's business changed tactics. Instead, they shifted closer in the only way left to them, not by force or authority, but by familiarity. And what better way to do that than to get closer to the warmer and more impressionable of the two cart owners?

They became customers. They stood in line, ordered food, paid properly, and smiled like they were trying to be friendly.

At first, the conversations were harmless. A woman in a pale jacket commented on how busy the street had been lately and asked Niko whether it was always like this. Niko answered cheerfully and said it was a good day, passed over the juice, and thanked her for the purchase. The woman lingered for half a second longer than necessary, then asked, casually, whether deliveries usually happened in the morning or the afternoon.

Niko's earlier smile faded a bit. She met her gaze and said, "I don't talk about that. Arno handles those kinds of things." Her tone polite but firm.

The woman blinked, laughed lightly as if embarrassed, and tried to steer the conversation to more benign things like the weather or what food she liked the most. But the earlier mood is now gone.

A few hours later, a man with an easy smile ordered bread and remarked that Niko must help out a lot around the cart. "Your guardian must trust you." he said, glancing toward the interior as if expecting Arno to be listening. "That's a lot of responsibility for someone your age."

Niko nodded once and said, "He does, so I work hard." before adding, "But I don't like answering questions about work." The man raised his hands in surrender, said he was only curious, and stepped aside, though the look he gave her suggested he hadn't expected the line to be so clearly drawn.

By the third attempt, the pattern was now obvious. Different faces, similar questions, all angled just enough to invite elaboration without demanding it. Someone asked whether things had changed recently. Someone else wondered aloud if the cart ever felt overwhelmed with attention. Niko responded the same way each time, short and consistent, never rude but never yielding ground.

When one woman leaned in and said, "You know, you can just go home. You're young. You should be at school, or playing with your friends."

Niko straightened, that last comment hitting a bit hard. Now thoroughly annoyed, she replied, "This is my responsibility. And you and your friends should stop asking."

The woman paid, avoided Niko's eyes, and didn't come back. Neither did the others.

That night, after the shutters were secured and the street had gone quiet, Niko told Arno about the encounters while he finished logging the day's counts. She explained how they spoke, what they asked, and when she decided they weren't just being friendly. "They were trying to get me to talk," she said, watching his reaction carefully. "About you. About the cart."

Arno closed the notebook and looked at her fully. "And you didn't," he said.

"No," Niko replied. "It felt wrong. Those people…they felt kinda slimy."

"Slimy?" Arno inquired.

"Yeah. like they felt like some kids back home." She explained. "One time, they tried to be my friends because I had a cool new coloring book. They completely ignored me when I said they couldn't borrow it, though. Those guys felt like that."

He nodded once, slow and deliberate. "I think they were trying to do the same thing as those kids you mentioned.." he said, then added, "You handled it properly."

Niko hesitated before asking, "Was I supposed to tell you sooner?"

"I knew all along, I just wanted to see how you would handle it." Arno replied. "You recognized the problem and stopped it before it went anywhere. That's exactly what I would have done. Besides, they weren't really trying to be subtle. I would've stepped in if they tried anything."

The relief on her face was immediate, though she tried to hide it. Arno allowed himself a small smile. "I'm proud of you," he said as he ruffled her hair.

Niko giggled, but began to whine about her now messy hair..

Whatever attention had been circling the cart had tried a quieter door and found it closed just as firmly.

---

Penguin Logistics didn't hear about it all at once.

They heard it the way they always did—through people getting nervous.

A fixer cancelled a job last minute and wouldn't say why. A driver suddenly decided he didn't want to work nights anymore. A middleman asked, a little too casually, whether Penguin Logistics was involved with a certain street vendor. That question alone was enough to make Exusiai curious.

So she went looking.

She didn't do it subtly. Exusiai never did. Subtlety was for follow-ups.

The man she cornered was small-time, the kind who hovered at the edge of deals and took credit for knowing people who actually mattered. She found him behind a convenience warehouse, pretending to check inventory on a datapad that wasn't connected to anything.

She landed in front of him from the roof.

"Hey," she said cheerfully.

He yelped and nearly dropped the pad.

"Relax," Exusiai added, hands raised, halo glowing faintly. "If I wanted to shoot you, you'd already be on the ground. I just wanna talk."

He swallowed. "I—I don't know you."

"That's fine," she said. "I know you."

That did not help his nerves.

She tilted her head, studying him. "So. I've been hearing about a food cart. Merchant's been turning down contracts. Real polite about it, too. Won't budge. Won't even counteroffer. That sound familiar?"

The man hesitated.

Exusiai smiled a little wider. "Before you answer, just so you know—I already talked to a few other people today. You're not the first. You're just the one who didn't immediately lie to me, so congratulations."

"…He wouldn't negotiate," the man finally admitted. "Not beyond what he already agreed to. Set terms. Fixed limits. No exceptions."

"And that annoyed people," Exusiai said.

"Yeah," he replied. "They figured he'd soften eventually. Or maybe that wasn't the real problem."

Exusiai's expression didn't change. "Meaning?"

"The kid," he said, quieter now. "She's the one out front half the time. Friendly. Talks to customers. People thought… maybe she'd be easier to approach."

"Approach how?" Exusiai asked.

He sighed. "Friendly questions. Nothing threatening. Ask how busy they've been. Whether things changed recently. Who comes by in the mornings. Stuff like that."

Exusiai straightened slightly. "And the merchant?"

"They tried first," he said quickly. "Offered logistics help. Distribution. Protection. Took a cut, sure, but framed it as support. He shut them down every time."

"And when that didn't work," Exusiai said, voice flat, "they shifted targets."

"They weren't gonna hurt her," he said defensively. "Just talk. Build rapport."

"That's worse," Exusiai replied immediately.

He flinched.

She pushed off the crate and stepped closer, tone still light, still conversational, but no longer forgiving. "Let me be very clear. When someone ignores a 'no' from an adult and decides to redirect that effort toward a kid, that stops being business. That becomes a problem."

"They already backed off," he said quickly. "After the girl shut them down. She didn't give them anything. Word spread that she wouldn't work as an angle."

"Good," Exusiai said. "That means she handled it."

She folded her arms. "Now here's what's going to happen next. You're going to go back to whoever you know that's still thinking about this and tell them it's over. No contracts. No 'friendly chats.' No lingering questions."

"And if they ask why?" he asked.

"You tell them you don't know," Exusiai replied easily. "You just know that the cart is off-limits. And that pushing it is a bad idea."

"And if they don't listen?"

Exusiai shrugged. "Then I'll talk to them too. And next time, I'll bring my friends."

She stepped aside, clearing his path. He didn't wait for permission. He bolted, not looking back.

Later that evening, Exusiai kicked her feet up on a table at Penguin Logistics' base, tearing open a bag of snacks. "They tried negotiating first," she reported between bites. "When that failed, they went soft. Thought they could get answers by being friendly."

Texas glanced up from her phone. "You stopped it?"

"Yeah," Exusiai said. "Before it went anywhere stupid."

"How are Arno and Niko?" Texas asked.

Exusiai smiled, softer now. "Still selling food. Still refusing bad deals. Kid's apparently sharp enough to spot nonsense a mile away."

"That's good," Texas said.

Exusiai leaned back. "Let's keep it that way, huh?"

Texas faintly smiled. "Yeah. I'm heading to the cart later to get more of those sugarettes for Emperor and I."

"Let's go right now!" Exusiai said, already standing. "I wanna see Niko, and get apple pie. And maybe grab some of those canned drinks Sora likes."

Somewhere else in Lungmen, interest quietly evaporated. Conversations ended early. Plans were revised, then abandoned.

And in the cart, Arno locked up for the night, unaware that the pressure had changed shape, and that it had failed just as completely as before.

 

[Despacitoleo]

Mc needs to use his merchant powers to go plague god on the fuckers
Mc: cart they tried to fuck with our employee by having her give up company secrets what can you do to help?

Mysterious cart: execution

 

[Loggger_master]

The saying "You win more flies with honey than with vinegar" held true as always, even if unintentionally on Arno's part.
My man has been leaving his field of fucks barren since he came to Terra.

 

[Aidas456]

The saying "You win more flies with honey than with vinegar" held true as always, even if unintentionally on Arno's part.
My man has been leaving his field of fucks barren since he came to Terra.

Click to shrink...

Too busy selling goods to grow a fuck.

 

[stoodeu]

Thanks for the chapter.